Free Accidental Commando by Ingrid Weaver

like to admit weakness to anyone, especially to herself.
    His initial assessment had been right: Emily was emotionally fragile. It had to be due to her breakup. She must have really loved the guy to have been hurt that badly. At least Tyler hadn’t lied outright to her. That was the only way he could ease his conscience while still following the major’s orders. But justified or not, whenever Tyler thought of the farce they were perpetrating, he felt like something he might scrape off his boot.
    Damn, he couldn’t go there. Not now. “Okay, I’d say the risk of the blast carrying that far is minimal. They should be safest where they are.”
    “Looks like the bomb could have been meant to force them outside,” Duncan said. “A diversion, just as you thought. Good call, junior.”
    “I’ll relay the information to President Gorrell,” Redinger said. “Can you disable the device?”
    Tyler hitched his shoulders partway into the cabinet and studied the pair of detonators that had been sunk into the wad of C4. “Yes, sir.” He reached back for the tools that he’d aligned on the floor beside him and felt around until his fingers closed on the pliers. “It shouldn’t be a problem.”
    “Good. Keep me posted.”
    “Will do.”
    The radio went silent, though Tyler knew the channel was still open. The men had suspended their usual chatter in order to allow him to concentrate. He closed the rubber-lined jaws of the pliers around the antenna, deciding to disrupt the electric firing train first. He disconnected the receiver from the battery and was easing the wire from the detonator when he heard a muted crack.
    He swore under his breath and focused on the remaining initiator. The bomb wasn’t as simple as he’d first assumed.
    “Sergeant?” Redinger asked.
    “The backup trigger activated,” Tyler said. “I just heard the ampule break.”
    “Bummer,” Kurt muttered.
    Tyler set down the pliers, dried his forehead on his sleeve and retrieved his knife. The time for finesse had passed. One way or another, this was going to be over in a matter of seconds.

    Emily sat on a wrought iron bench in the shadows of the courtyard, watching the fingers of light from the setting sun inch across the roof of the palace. Her notebook lay untouched on the seat beside her, but it wasn’t the encroaching darkness that had stopped her from working. She hadn’t written a word from the moment Jack had passed on the news that the bomb had been disarmed, which had been at least thirty minutes ago. She’d been trying to calm down ever since.
    That bothered her. So had the depth of her concern when she’d realized that Tyler was in danger. They’d only spent two days together. Three, if she counted their stakeout at the café. She barely knew him. And this sort of task was part of his job. Jack had informed her that Tyler was the team’s ordnance specialist and had been trained to handle any number of hazardous situations. Jack had even gone on to describe several.
    She couldn’t begin to imagine the concentration a person would need in order to deal with a live bomb. Tyler would have to have nerves of steel. No wonder he always seemed so steady. Staying in control would be vital to his survival. She’d already seen him in action when he’d tackled her amid a hail of bullets in her hotel room, so she knew he kept his cool under dangerous conditions.
    But he was no automaton. She’d seen hints of softness, especially when he’d been talking about his family. He hadn’t been able to conceal his sense of humor, either. Just before he’d run off, he’d been smiling—or almost smiling—about his little sister’s wedding. Too bad he hadn’t had a chance to answer the question about his love life.
    She drew the elastic from her hair, slipped it over her wrist and gave her scalp a quick rub. How many times did she have to remind herself? She was physically attracted to Tyler. What woman alive wouldn’t be? But her emotions